


Catamaran

by etacanis



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 11:05:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etacanis/pseuds/etacanis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The radio's playing static coated music, bursts of a low voice breaking through, sneaking through and singing to <i>them</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catamaran

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a highschool AU I'm kind of thinking of doing? Brad & Nate are about 17/just the edge of 18 here. Inspired by [Baptism](http://linebreak.org/poems/baptism/) by Dennis Hinrichsen.

Nate smells faintly of salt as he leans over Brad. His hand presses up into the ceiling of the car and Brad is distracted away from the thought of vacuuming sand out of the carpets by the slow grind of Nate's cock against his. Swim trunks, thin material and an edge of netting is all that separates them, shirts long abandoned in the front seats

His grip is too tight on Nate's hips, pinprick pulses of red blooming beneath his fingertips, but the harder he squeezes, the harder Nate rocks his hips against him, the slow drag back, the deep push forwards, his breath coming in gentle bursts.

His thumbs trace the edge of Nate's hips. He'd look good with tattoos, just there, just where Brad's thumbs sit and edging outwards. Words and poetry and art, intelligence adorning his skin the way Brad thinks about clashes of colour on his own.

The radio's playing static coated music, bursts of a low voice breaking through, sneaking through and singing to _them_ , their own private soundtrack that means nothing at all, not yet. Nate slows to mimic the beat as he leans down, hands pressed into the bite of Brad's shoulders as he kisses him, gentle and promising, smooth and _not enough_ , not the rough kisses Brad prefers when energy's built up in him like this, not the sharp thrust of hips he needs.

"When do you have to be home?" Nate murmurs when he pulls away, still close enough that Brad can feel the puff of breath against his cheeks.

"It's _Summer_ ," Brad says, biting back a gasp when Nate shifts back to trail his hand over the line of his hard on through his shorts. "No curfew." 

Nate doesn't say anything else, just smiles, bright, bright and brighter than the moon that's causing his skin to glow in the darkness. They move, together, Brad trying to find space for his new growth spurt induced legs and space for Nate's hand in his shorts, Nate twisting his wrist and twisting his hips and grinding down against Brad's thigh. He keeps the pace slow, gentle and mellow, no rush at all, just a whisper of promise against his body.

The Supremes cut through the static, burning, burning feelings and Brad arching into Nate, hands on his hips and poetry traces under his thumbs.


End file.
